


Camouflage

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Lavender Scare, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28130346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: When Charles discovers that Max sometimes suffers for his costumes, Winchester surprises everyone by acting as a shield.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Camouflage

**Author's Note:**

> L_M_Biggs helped me with Igor's section - thank you, my friend!!

Occasionally, without meaning to, the members of the 4077th treated their latest company clerk more like furniture or an implement than a person; Corporal Klinger was a means to an end, a way to place a call or deal with a homegrown crisis or the first step in acquiring some necessity or item to bring comfort. When Major Charles Emerson Winchester III failed to find Klinger in his office, he turned toward his tent, rubbing his hands to warm them and cursing Klinger for not being where he wanted him to be when he wanted him to be there. 

He entered without knocking and was halfway into a speech about the telegram he  _ needed  _ sent  _ immediately  _ “and why weren’t you at your desk, Corporal?” when he actually saw the man he’d come to to put to work. Wrapped in a blanket, Klinger was sitting before a trifold mirror, fixing his face. 

“Ah,” Charles said then. “I see. You’ve left work early in preparation for a pleasant evening. While I’ve little doubt that powdering your nose is a time-consuming endeavor, I need your help.” 

These words weren’t much of a jab coming from the Major, so he was taken aback when the eyes he could only see thanks to the mirror flashed with hurt. He came closer, concerned. “Corporal?” 

When he did so, he saw that the lines of concealer on Klinger’s face weren’t flesh-toned; they were lilac and yellow and clearly heavier than an ordinary concealer. A tube of something pale and peach was in the Corporal’s hand. A basin sat beside his feet. The wash cloth trailing from it was stained, the water pink. Charles recognized  _ that  _ shade on something below a conscious level. “Klinger? What happened to you?”

Without turning, the Corporal pressed at his lower lip, wiping away the blackberry smear that had begun to crust there. “Nothing to concern you, Major. Let me just blend this in and we can make your call.” 

Charles grabbed the back of the chair and spun him so that he could actually look at his injured face; he was unaccustomed to making a diagnosis in a mirror. “Damn the call! What happened?” He reached out, trying to grip his head and hold it steady. Klinger had done a good job with the makeup; from a distance the eye - more blue than black - might have been taken for exhaustion. Lipstick hid the worst of the lip. There must have been bruising at the jawline, though, because he winced and moved out of Charles’ grip. 

“Get off,” Klinger told him, standing. “I’m fine.” 

“Corporal, forget for a moment that I am a doctor and you are not. I am also your superior. You may either confide in me as your friend and let me help you or I will  _ order  _ you into OR and you can explain it to Colonel Potter.” 

Klinger sighed; he didn’t have the strength for this kind of thing. Not now. Not tonight. “Major,  _ you  _ came to my private tent uninvited. The way I see it, this is the one damn place in this whole rotten country where I can be myself in peace. So, do me a favor and let me bleed that way. What’s it to you, anyway?” 

The one reaction Charles would have taken pleasure in was physically shaking the slighter man, but the situation closed that particular avenue. “Do you truly think so very little of me? That I would walk away from you now, like  _ this _ ?”

“I’m  _ asking  _ you to walk away!  _ I’m  _ not one of your patients! I can handle it myself, Major. I have every other damn time.” 

“Klinger, what are you saying? This has happened before? Someone has been  _ hurting _ you?”

“Major, please get out of here. My head’s starting to hurt and I have stuff that’s gonna need to soak. I’ve got this, okay? I grew up in Toledo. I can splint an arm with a broom handle. I can stitch a cut as well as I can stitch a dress. I don’t need help.” 

Charles wasn’t leaving. “But you cannot seem to prevent this from reoccurring. If you will not accept my help, will you at least allow me to get Hunnicutt or Pierce? You have served longer with them. Perhaps you will feel more comfortable with one of them.” 

“They don’t know any more about it than you do. I told you - I can take care of myself.”

“Afterwards?” Charles prompted. 

“Well, yeah,  _ this time _ . I was kinda outnumbered.” He rubbed the back of his neck and was surprised to encounter something sticky. “Gotta find some iodine, I guess,” he said, seeing the blood on his fingers.

Charles gaped at him. “That’s quite enough.” He gripped his shoulders. “What you are going to do is sit down.” He grabbed a blanket from the bed and folded it, placing it in front of the stove. Then he maneuvered Klinger onto it, emptied and refilled the basin, and began systematically uncovering and treating the damage Klinger had hidden with cake makeup and a gift for blending shades. 

The facial lacerations were minor; the body bruises were worse, and the bump on the back of the head worried Charles most of all. Whoever had caused it hadn’t been playing. When he’d done what he could, he refilled the basin again, warmed it on the stove, and made Klinger lean over it, a towel over his neck. 

“What are you doing, sir?”

“Washing your hair. It’s full of blood. And, yes, I do know you are quite capable of doing it yourself. I simply do not care.” 

Klinger winced when he rubbed shampoo into his scalp - his head really did hurt - but the warmth of the water wasn’t bad - it just made him want to sleep - and Winchester had good hands. Klinger supposed that made sense, given his profession and his success on said path, but he would not previously have believed that those eminently capable hands could also be at once strong and gentle, supportive and careful of him. Remembering how he’d come under such a touch, he fought back a surge of hot tears. It was always going to be like this, those blows had said. Even if you step back in line and dress right, we’ll find you and we’ll hurt you, leave you shivering in the dirt. We’ll let you get back up, but just so we can do it all again later. 

“You’re very quiet,” said Winchester. “Don’t faint on me, Corporal.” 

“Didn’t lose enough blood for that.” 

“This time?”

“What?”

“If you know how much blood you can lose before becoming faint, chances are good that you have crossed that line before. So when was that? Here? Or back in the States?” 

“I work in the OR. Maybe I know from that.”

Winchester doused his dark locks without warning, pleased the water was no longer running pink. “Don’t lie to me.” 

Klinger came up sputtering, glared. “That wasn’t very nice, Major.” 

“It was not intended to be. Klinger, if it was here, I could have helped you. We  _ all  _ would. I find myself intensely frustrated with you.” He held his chin, examining the cut below his lip; it had started to bleed again. “More than that, I am  _ worried  _ for you. This cannot go on.” 

Klinger toweled at his hair and winced; it hurt just to hold up his arms. “It’s fine, Major.”

“Spending your evenings cleaning blood off of your face and hiding your wounds is  _ not  _ fine. What if you’d been needed in OR?”

“I’ve never missed an OR, Major.”

His frustration only increased. He’d been so focused (and rightly so) on wounded soldiers, he hadn’t noticed the wounded corpsman snapping to and carrying out his orders. “Klinger, am I correct in assuming this bloody debacle arises from your insistence on appearing in skirts?” 

“Bullseye.” 

He thought a moment. “You are far too pretty to ask you to give up velvet, so another tack. Here is what we are going to do.”

After he had explained, Klinger just stared - processing or dumbfounded, Winchester wasn’t sure, but definitely exhausted. “No, sir,” he began, but Winchester cut him off.

“I am not asking your permission, Corporal.” 

“You can’t order me into your bed!” 

“I’ve no intention of doing any such thing. This will be for appearances only. And you won’t be so often alone, which should decrease the amount of times you are  _ vulnerable _ .” 

“You’re going to date me the whole time we’re stuck here?” 

“Why not? I am not pursuing anyone else. And the people pursuing you seem to want to leave you broken.” 

“Major, don’t you think this is just stepping into the noose with me?”

“I rather hope it is.”

“What?!”

“Striking a Major is worthy a court martial, Klinger. Let them try it and they’ll be gone.”  _ And you’ll be safe.  _

“And being labeled a homosexual will get you drummed out on a dishonorable discharge!” Klinger countered. “What about your family, Major? I don’t think they’re going to okay a match with an immigrant kid from Toledo. And your patients need you. The Colonel needs you. I can’t be the reason you get kicked out!” 

“Klinger, I am a Winchester. The army does not desire that kind of trouble. As for my family, they’ve no need to know I’ve taken you beneath my wing.” Though he didn’t doubt Honoria would be pleased and amused at the idea of his playing rescuer to a man in skirts. “Now, have these attackers of yours ever returned at night?”

Klinger didn’t answer immediately, which was a kind of answer in itself. Charles placed his hands on his shoulders. “How bad is this thing? How far has this gone?” He saw the shadows in his eyes. “Surely not!” 

“No,” Klinger assured him. “Not that.”

“But it has come up. They’ve threatened it, or done something to make you fear it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” 

“Well, there’s nothing to fear now. Not tonight or hereafter.” 

Klinger wasn’t a bit happy with the way his life had suddenly decided to go. He did smile, however, when Charles abandoned his footwear.

“What is it?”

“Never had a Major’s boots under my bed before, sir. Kind of an honor.” 

“Go to bed, Corporal.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Keep watch.”

The lights were turned down. After a long spell of silence, Klinger said, “I’m sorry I was rude to you, Major.” 

Winchester looked up and found his eyes. “First, Maxwell, you’re going to have to learn to call me Charles. Second, you were hurt and I had my fingers in the wounds. You had every right to react as you did.”

“Can I ask you something, sir?” 

“Yes.” The name thing was going to take work, apparently. 

“Why’re you doing this for me? You don’t even like me.” 

“I like you well enough,” Charles corrected. “Indeed, sometimes I downright enjoy you - you’re quick-witted in an argument, you’re preternaturally kind, and you’re a top flight schemer, even if most of your schemes fail. As for why I would offer my protection… I have no tolerance for abuse.” 

Klinger made a soft sound of amusement. “Where were you when I was growing up?”

_ Protecting a lovely little girl with a broken voice _ , he thought. “I am here now. And I’m not going, no matter how much you frown at me about it. Go to sleep. You’re going to have a terrible headache tomorrow as it is. I’ll wake you before reveille and give you a shot.” 

Klinger groaned. “I hate needles.”

“I will hold your hand. You shall be fine.”

“You’re a terrible boyfriend, Major.” 

Charles found it heartening that he could tease. “I am sure you will instruct me as to improvements I can undertake. Sleep well, Max.” 

***

He woke to the sound of low, angry voices. One of them had a beautiful Atlantic coast accent. 

Charles saw his eyes when he returned to the chair. “It’s alright, Max. They’re gone. Go back to sleep.” 

Klinger rearranged himself to make more room. “You should sleep, too. C’mon. You’ll fit.”

It was a silly, charming offer, but he’d decided to undertake this strange charade - best play it to the hilt. 

He did not realize how quickly, however, he’d be called to play this role for his friends - or his CO. The Swamp Rats mostly chortled over this new side of him, but Potter was concerned. 

He gave him a measured talking to about war and pressures (peppered throughout with cavalry anecdotes), then lectured him about the dangers. “Your wealth and connections might keep the army off your neck,” he conceded, “but your Corporal needs his benefits.” He gave him a shrewd look. “Unless you intend this as a permanent match.” 

“Winchesters do not engage in dalliances, Colonel.” 

“Well if you are committed,” it was clear he actually wanted to say something about how the man  _ should be  _ committed, “you won’t mind talking to Sidney.”

Charles sensed that he wasn’t getting out of this, so, much as he despised psychiatrists and their work, he gave in. At least Honoria could look forward to an interesting letter; she would, he knew, be pleased with his course. 

***

Sidney studied the cool, composed creature before him. The refined Major always made him think of Cream Earl Grey tea and the tang of salt left by a receding tide, bone white China and expensive fountain pens… and pain. 

“Your CO seems to think you’ve gone and rigged a highwire over an abyss,” he informed Winchester. 

Charles shrugged. “Much as I respect the Colonel, I think him a fool for keeping a horse.”

“That’s your way of saying he’s entitled to his opinion, I take it?” 

“He certainly is.” He smirked. “As are you.” 

Sidney thought about reminding him that  _ his  _ opinion could cause him problems with the army, but since he had no desire or intention to hurt either Winchester or Klinger, there was no reason to say it. 

“The Colonel also thinks this is a ruse of some sort - a way to protect the Corporal, maybe. I imagine Klinger has a hard time.”

Nothing changed in Winchester’s eyes. He’d been baited by better men than this so-called doctor. “If he has had difficulties in the past, they are at an end now.”

“And for the future? Potter says you mean to make a true go of this. A life with Maxwell Klinger.”

For the first time, Sidney got a reaction; Charles did not like Klinger’s given name being taken into his mouth.  _ That  _ told him something; it might be a house of cards that Winchester was living in with his unique, fine-waisted fling, but the foundation under it was real. 

“I do.”

Those words were deliberate, Sidney thought - wedding day words. 

“It will be difficult,” Sidney cautioned him. 

“More difficult than heart surgery in the dark with headlights for illumination? More difficult than living  _ here _ ? It’s not a challenge I fear, doctor.” 

“Your family will accept this?” 

“Of course not.” He sighed then, exhausted by all of this. “They will no doubt both disown and disinherit me.”

“Klinger is worth that?” He didn’t use his first name again. 

There was no hesitation. “He is.” He saw the slighter man’s bruised face. 

“There is, if I remember our last conversation correctly, one other person you love as much. Your sister.” 

“Honoria. Yes.  _ She _ will not disown me. And, given her penchant for rescuing things both soft and helpless, she will no doubt adopt and adore Max.” He smiled at the thought. Sidney didn’t think it was a fake smile. 

“You said ‘will’ adopt - not  _ has.  _ She doesn’t know?”

“Not yet. Though when she learns I am certain she will start knitting little things.” He saw the doctor’s brows go up. “For Maxwell,” he explained. “He, too, is little.” 

“Why don’t we tell her tonight? Good news is nothing to sit on. I’m sure there’s an heirloom you would like to adorn him with?” 

“My grandmother’s ring. She meant it for my bride.”

“Then shall we call?”

“If that will satisfy you and the Colonel,” he gestured to the door, “lead on.” 

Sidney had very much expected Honoria’s name to be put an end to the whole affair. Lying to oneself or a doctor for whom one had merely professional respect was one thing; lying to one’s best friend over ten thousand miles of wire was something else. 

Nor, the psychiatrist soon learned, was Miss Winchester any less formidable than her brother. Happy as she was to hear from Charles (who wasn’t even on a recording this time), she didn’t buy his story for a second and wasn’t shy about saying so. 

With Honoria digging for details (“What do you mean y-you’ve f-fallen in love!?”) and Sidney’s skeptical gaze focused on him, Winchester ought to have cracked. But whatever had inspired him to make Klinger his was strong enough, for the time being, to override them both. Honoria agreed to send the ring (it  _ was  _ his) and Sidney advised Potter to try to find out the truth from Klinger if he could, because he wouldn’t be getting it from Winchester. Potter surprised him by shaking his head. “Winchester is a lot of things. I know- I’ve called him plenty of ‘em. But he isn’t cruel. Whatever he’s up to, my heart says it’s coming from a better place than those knife-sharp comments of his. He wants to look after the boy? I’ll let him. Sometimes if you give a horse it’s head, it becomes a far finer animal than when you sawed on its mouth with a bit.”

“And the other times?” Sidney couldn’t help asking.

“Sometimes the damn thing runs itself right into the barbed wire you were trying to steer it away from. Let’s hope this doesn’t get bloody.” 

*** 

For Klinger, things improved over the next several weeks. Charles’ predictions had been spot on. He didn’t get hurt again - and the truth was that he came to really like the company. He’d grown up in a big family and it was nice to fall asleep talking to someone, to have someone to spend time with in his off hours. Charles was an unobtrusive evening companion; while Klinger sewed, he read aloud or listened to music or did paperwork, quietly satisfied that he had not - since that first night - had to clean blood out of Klinger’s soft hair. 

To the questions of his friends, Klinger answered as Winchester had directed. He wasn’t exactly the blushing fiancé, but Winchester did make him happy. Sometimes, he even felt like they really  _ were _ dating. Charles bought him fabric, sometimes, and took good care of him through tiny rituals all the time. 

They might have gone on in this way until Klinger insisted that he was safe and that Charles could leave off (breaking their [fake] engagement), if it hadn’t been for the CIC. 

They never found out who sent the report, but the witch hunt was on for the deviant threatening the security and moral fiber of the 4077th. 

Now, they stood in Potter’s office - the officer corps of the 4077th - as Colonel Brayden read from reports from his spies. Hawkeye stretched his long legs and inspected the manicure he’d given the office’s anatomical model, clearly making a bid to see Brayden’s head spin. BJ, Mr. I Got an A in Fidelity, was dozing; whatever this deviancy nonsense was, his body language said it very much did  _ not  _ apply to him. Margaret sat up military straight, as if, in absorbing Brayden’s words, she might protect the entire military from internal threats all by herself. Potter was chugging away on a cigar as a stopgap for pure annoyance. This left Charles, who, unbeknownst to all of them, was about to fall on his sword. 

“I am not slowing the work of my hospital down to a turtle trot so you can question folks about whose beds they have or haven’t been hopping into!” Potter thundered at the man. 

Brayden shot back with the words Charles had been waiting to hear the entire meeting and Charles stood, thinking of the tea rose shine of blood in black hair, thinking of that thin, wiry form drawn up against him in the middle of the night, warm at his side, hoping his protection would outlast his presence. 

“You, Major?” 

Hard as he had angled for his prize, Brayden did not seem pleased with what he had caught. Binding his hands further to the stake, Charles nodded. “Let us go, then, Colonel. I will answer your questions and you can arrange your pretty show trial and democracy will be safe again.”  _ And so will Max. _

Potter tried to stop him, of course, but Charles went, clear-eyed and unafraid. He did give a set of instructions to Pierce, however, who, wonder of wonders, not only promised to carry them out, but saluted him, heels coming together. His only regret as he left the 4077th was that Leavenworth was so very far from the sea. 

***

Back at the 4077th, Winchester contrasted the day of his arrival by with this most unexpected of returns. The smells were all the same, unfortunately (latrine, cesspool, latrine again, mess) but the welcome was unexpected, indeed. 

“Maxwell, are you  _ crying _ !?” 

“He gets all fluttery when his fiance gets accused of treason,” Pierce explained, chuckling at the sight of Klinger’s dark head buried in Charles’ chest. 

Figuring that their story would cover the action, Charles stroked Klinger’s dark hair, fingers trembling… not for himself, but for the other man. “It is quite alright, Max.” 

Klinger turned his head up, not moving from Charles’ arms. Tears trickled down his cheeks. “You’re okay? It’s over?” 

“I am perfectly fine. As I recall, I quite assured you that I would be.” 

Huh. Maybe some of that Winchester stuff was true. 

***

That night, Max worked KP beside Igor and the cook’s helper could tell that his card-playing friend was incensed. Igor found an incensed Maxwell to actually be a pretty good time - his anger was harmless but entertaining to watch - like fireworks. 

“You alright, Klinger?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He was almost  _ inside _ large pot, scouring it, but Igor could read the frantic energy in his motions - a manic sort of frustration he hadn’t seen since Klinger first started wearing dresses. Back then, Igor had imagined that his pantyhose were just too tight, figured such a thing would put anyone in a bad mood. 

“You just seem kinda out of sorts,” Igor tried again. 

Klinger popped out of the veritable cauldron. “You twisted my arm.” He threw down the rag he was using. The rant he’d been carrying on inside his mind rolled right off of his tongue (and it might have been sharp enough to do for the pot, too). “Where does he get off doing all of that for me? Like I can't protect myself? Like I'm some delicate maiden to be rescued? I got the skirts, but I also got the left hook, too!”

“Well, you know,” When it came right down to it, Igor was no better with rhetorical questions than the rest of the camp was.

“And another thing! He didn't have to pretend to be my man, he didn't have to take me on walks and spend time in my tent. Even if we didn't do anything, he didn't have to do all that reading and flirting and playing cards with me!”

Igor perked up at the word flirting. It wasn’t that it hadn’t been camp gossip - but this was getting it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. “Do you think he maybe,”

“Where does he get off!? It's not even like either of us  _ was _ getting off, but he said he'd never do the same things for the  _ nurses _ so that's proof that he really really could have been discharged for being... You know! Even though, you know, there wasn’t any - well you know what I mean.”

Igor just knew how the pair looked together - the way Winchester held himself to Max’s height when he spoke to him, the way he paired his stride to that of the shorter (though more energetic) man, the way he rested his huge hand on Max’s shoulder. “Max, maybe he,”

The other man nodded his head, but he was still frowning, still exasperated. “Yeah, I know. He might feel that way about me. It’s crazy, but why else would he go an’ do all that!?”

Igor nodded his agreement; Winchester had honor and breeding in spades - but no one had ever called him  _ nice _ . 

Max sighed - a sound so weighted that it took his listening friend back to the days of his divorce. There was a lot riding on the Winchester conundrum, apparently. “But how do I even know if I feel the same about him? That it's not just being grateful because I’m not getting hurt anymore?”

Igor gave him a wide-eyed but encouraging look. “You could talk to him, Max.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Igor. You’re always full of good advice.”

*** 

Cornering the tall, regal Major wasn’t easy, but Klinger eventually managed to get the man in his tent. Charles looked at him expectantly. 

The usually loquacious Corporal couldn’t find the words for what he wanted to know. “Nobody’s ever tried to protect me before, Major. Not ever.”

“I do not require thanks, Maxwell.” But it warmed him; he had protected Honoria. Now, he had protected Max. He had a knack for this, perhaps. 

Max wished that he knew what the man  _ did  _ require. Or what he did. 

“Here’s the problem, sir. I… I know it was just for play. Just ta keep those guys from roughing me up. But I guess I got used to it. Thinkin’ you’d be around. That you could be mine. So, could you use your fancy words and tell me it’ll never ever work? If I hear it from you, I think I’ll start getting over it.” 

“I could break our engagement, Maxwell, if you wish it. Do you wish me to release you?”

“Well, better now then you saying ‘see ya,’ at the end of this when we both know I never will. I can’t… I don’t know how to repay you for what you did, Major. And I don’t know how to get you outta my heart. Not on my own. So, tell me all that stuff about you going back to Boston General and having a bunch of kids to make your family happy… tell me I won’t fit.”

Hearing the unshed tears living just beneath his voice, Charles did something quite different, coming close enough that Max could feel the warmth of him. Then he knelt at his feet. “I could break our engagement,” he repeated. “Or I could strengthen it.” He lifted Klinger’s hand and kissed the place where an heirloom diamond would rest (a warzone was no place for real jewelry). 

Klinger trembled, afraid. “I thought I did pretty well, sir. With all the fake stuff. Stood up to it pretty well.” A tear slipped down his cheek. “But I can’t stand this. Please. Don’t joke like  _ this _ , Major. It hurts. I already hadta get over Laverne. And I can’t help but think… I think this will be harder.” 

The sob that he stifled… Charles wondered if it was like those that must have wracked him when he’d been hurt and had no protector.  _ Did you shed tears over my absence?  _

He knew he must convince this brave creature that was holding back his tears for his sake. “Would you wait here a moment, Maxwell?”

The Corporal nodded. When Charles returned and placed a small pile of papers into his hands, he offered him a confused look - at least until he recognized the writing. “This is… this is… How!?”

“I had time for writing while my case was being decided. Your mother instructed me that your Uncle Abdul is a sort of father to you, so it was to him that I made my request. I have secured both their blessings, as you can read for yourself.”

It was enough to make tears spill and sparkle on his lashes. “What about  _ your _ family, Major?” 

“Take a look.”

Honoria’s letter contained an apology for not believing him the first time. She then enthused over Klinger’s portrait (Klinger liked being called a doll, for sure) and began to plan the life they would have together. “I never had a sister before,” he said shyly. “What about your parents?” 

“They have never accepted me. I doubt this will heal the breach, but it also did not cause it. My home is my own, darling. And yours if you wish it.”

“When…  _ how _ ?” 

_ See how well we fit together, pet? _ Charles knew what he was asking from just those two syllables. “That first night as you slept. It turns out that you are easy to hold and harder to release.” 

“You just… you stayed to protect me.” 

“Yes. And I quickly wished to do so, ah, always.” 

“You couldn’t have maybe said something?!” 

“I did not know your wishes in the matter.” 

Klinger had caught the smile that flickered across his lips. The Major had  _ suspected _ . “So how long have we been engaged?” 

“ _ I _ meant it the first time.” 

“So did I. You’d better call Honoria again.”

Charles pulled him close instead, drew him into the bed. “I would rather wait. Our affairs have been public thus far. I would rather keep this to ourselves.”  _ At least until you believe me _ . 

So they curled together in the quiet, their hearts learning to beat together.

End!


End file.
